… to roughty’s masterful la blog. absolutely nothing omitted that i feel worth mentioning. in fact, he went into detail in places i would have left out completely — namely, my vomiting incident. you loyal readers (who are apparently enthralled with pegasii {search term}) had grown accustomed to seeing me stone sober, cradling lovely trout, perch and bass in my adept fishing (and masturbating{search term}) arm. this is only half the real suityourself. the other half is the drunken, light-weight puking on stoney’s roof. by the way, i doubt seriously that stoney has bothered to drag a hose up there and wash that shit off. hope those infamous la pigeons were hungry for roast beef sandwiches, bong ashes, whiskey, coca-cola and half-digested xanax(sp?) {search term} pills, cuz that’s what they are eating off the roof right now.

did i say there was nothing i can add to roughty’s blog? well, nearly nothing. i would feign go into some detail about the culture — if it can so be called — in los angeles, califreakia. let me start (as i do every day) with the weed sitch. it is, as i stated earlier, all true. you can buy it if you have a prescription. i don’t have a prescription, so i could get busted out there as easily as i could right here in good ole virginny. stoney, on the other hand, is immune. he’s legit. too legit, in fact, to quit. leave it to the rich blond fucker to have all the luck that the rest of us working men (just me) really deserve. i have these pictures of ornately arranged bongs {search term}, blunts {search term}, rolling papers {search term} and big, fat, kine bud nuggets {search term} that i should post as soon as possible. not today. no camera. you can continue to wait in vain. the weed is chron-drizzle-fo-shrizzle. the youngsters out there are just how they were when george harrison {search term} described them some 40 years ago. dropouts and losers. while sir roughtonious and i were traversing the boardwalk one morning, we walked past this band of raggidy fucks who were between the ages of 16 and 22, probably. they were “protesting” in some way i guess. they all had some shitty cardboard signs that read, “give me money for prescription weed!” these busted-ass looking fuckers all had some mangy white-boy dreads {search term}. you know the kind. they’re dreaded at the ends, but just real teased-looking nearer to the scalp. this is because white boy hair doesn’t naturally dread. you have to either put some wax or something in it or work really hard at it consistently for a long while (see Dankkkkkkkkkk’s dreads from long long ago), and these kids had either run out of wax or motivation, cuz they had these fucked up looking dreads, and coupled with their sweat-stained, tie-dyed greatful dead {search term} t-shirts, they suited out as one of the mottliest crews i’d ever seen. i smirked at one of them (see “pffffft,” and he asked me for a dollar. news flash, asshole, if you can’t afford a weed-card, you’re most definitely not going to have the money to support your fledgling tree-habit. here’s an idea for you. try cutting that shit off your head, taking whatever money you begged so far and buy a new shirt. after that, how about getting a job? this has been the bit about the youth culture. i didn’t see too many other “kids” around. most of them were either sleeping under cardboard boxes on the street or eating at restaurants where appetizers cost 400 beezies. needless to say, i did not fall into either category.

now for a little bit on the rest of the society out there. service industry is made up almost entirely of mexicans. as i said before, the kids are either filthy rich or lazy as shit and worthless in both cases. this leaves a huge void in the marketplace for service industry people — people who know how to work for a dollar even if it means messing up that fresh hair-do or breaking a nail. mexicans fill this void. yussir. all the mexicans i saw were pretty nice to me. i didn’t try to bust out the spanish on them. i’m sure they get that enough from tourists just like me, so i just grinned at some of them, exposing my yellowing teeth and my blazed-out red eyes. surprisingly, lots of them grinned back. i am not the most sophisticated guy on the block, but i think their grins were, in general, sincere. could it be that they were happy to be in america and making those big green american dollars? i dunno. i like to think so, but who knows? maybe they just thought if they grinned at them, i’d give them some money or something. maybe they thought i was a movie star… yeah, that’s probably it. yup, that’s the one i’m going with. as far as other people in the la working world, i didn’t really see many. again, most of them are either much too rich or much too poor to be seen in any of the places i visited.

a note on commerce in la, they have pretty much the same type of stores there that we have here. grocery stores, liquor stores, clothing stores, drug stores, electronics stores, home furnishings stores, etc. as always, some of these places are over-priced, and some are more reasonable. however, the most reasonable one out there was much more expensive than the most over-priced on in virginia. likewise, the cost of living is steep. housing is hardly affordable, even for two gainfully employed folks like roughty’s and my hosts — stoney and lady t. just like nyc, la is a place i’d love to live so long as i was dirty-rich. for regular middle-class people, it’s a nice place to visit.

the physical environment was everything i had hoped for in some ways but not as cool as i had hoped in other ways. temperature was perfecto! never too hot. sun always shining. cool in the morning and evening. perfect. sandy beaches and lovely palm trees. some good looking women — maybe a slightly better ratio than virginia. however, i didn’t get to see too much of the country, not-developed areas as i had hoped. i know they exist, because when we went to the greek theater, it was sick-to-deff. lots of wildlife possibilities and such. i feel like cali. is as wild as they say, but i just didn’t get a chance to see it. we stayed in the suburbs of the concrete jungle. next time, i plan to check out all the wild places and make a better judgment after that. as far as animalia goes, i saw some lizards, some pigeons and sea-gulls, a bunch of dogs, a cat inside a window, a crazy shark/ray and that is about it.

enough, for now, on la. now onto more pressing matters — baseball.

braves {search term}are poised and ready to strike out at roughty’s shitty mets (who blew the hell out of that 5 run lead roughty alluded to in an earlier post). dankkkkkkkkkkkkkkk’s redsux are pulling the usual choke-job. stoney’s dodgers have fallen off a little bit. the rest of you need to pick a fucking baseball team, cuz you’re missing out on the best season in generations. get ready, because in two weeks i’m going to be writing about how my beloved braves are in first place and roughty’s favorite player has broken his leg or sustained an equally devastating injury. all i hope is that pedro martinez gets called up to the bigs soon. i cannot wait to see him get shelled by the big bats of the atl braves. it’s going to be dangerous for him, though, so roughty ought to kneel down and say a prayer that pedro doesn’t get killed by a line-drive off chipper’s bat.

speaking of sports, stoney has been awfully silent lately about

michael vick {search term}. maybe he feels bad for always being such a fucking racist who hates all black people. he should. michael vick has been framed, and everyone with half a brain knows it. it’s just that the white man can’t stand a talented black man having any money, so they’re framing him. michael vick is the shit.

if he gets suspended, he’ll just go into seclusion for a couple years and work on his skills like luke s. did in one of the star wars {search term} movies with yoda on degoba. after this, he’ll just have to win three superbowls instead of the 2 he was planning on before. there’s no way he’s going to jail, and if he does, i can smell a “longest yard” three-quel. yall need to stop being jealous of michael vick. just because you’re racist doesn’t make him guilty. if i were vick’s attorney, i would use the self-defense ploy. after all, pits are dangerous.

“if mike got bit, you must acquit.”

now, back to one of my fav. topics — john from cincinnati. as i mentioned before, the show takes place in one “IB.” imperial beach is the southwestern-most city in the united states. i thought maybe it was in la, but no. it’s nearer to san diego, i guess. no wonder stoney and the rest of his idiot friends had no idea what the fuck i was talking about. anyways, the show’s first season is over. the finale was anti-climactic, to say the least. in fact, it was close to a let-down. no secrets revealed, no aliens, no death, no jesus christ, no nothing, really. just dylan mckay and zach morris dicking it up like they did in the early 90s. they are setting us up for a second season, so i hope the numbers allow this to happen. john from cincinnati is the best show you’ve never seen. trust me. how about one more clip just for good measure?

As i have visited californ-i-a twice now and long to join me fellow scallywags in their pirate adventures in la la land, i feel a tribute to their base is in order. well, i have been to many parts of the city including the four parts jp has seen in his two years there.

dodger stadium is sweet, but roasts in the desert mountains. roughty, make sure you bring your spf 75 and slob it on with every pitching change, which will most likely be every inning as both clubs will sorely mistaken their inadequate rotations and bullpens with fatigue, weather, or some other ludicrous excuse.

East L.A. and the DR:

Sweet as well. I feel suit will find a home in the drawing room and the relative diversity in relation to the rest of la in the former paradise that stoney called home. you must absolutely show the former kingdom in all its glory and cold showers. this was the first place i found in my visits to la with true, unsuperficial culture. remember my 4:00 am walkabout in search of a sip of any liquid in my half drunken, half hungover stupor as stoney had neither drink nor refrigeration. i walked at least 7 blocks to be dissapointed by powered down vending machines that i had to beg the grocery store owner to turn on to get an orange soda that t and i shared (what up, t) . on my ramble i encountered at least two hookers with one clearly disguising a dick. my day consisted of walking around east la and eating gut bombs for breakfast, lunch and dinner. i was happy to escape my previous experiences of yuppiness disguised in kewlness.

hollywierd:

weird and extemely superficial with a bunch of douches disguised as hipsters and guns and roses impersonators.

venice:

i was accurately described by lady t the wonderous freak show that is venice beach. of course we were all fucked up and noided out, so we sat at the public bathroom and gazed out upon the circus. there was definitely a small degree of reality here in their rejection of superficiality, but their conscious objection seemed superficial in itself. of course i am superficial as hell, especially then and enjoyed pretending to be normal for a minute, despite my schizoid drug induced psychotic personality disorder’s ‘outside looking in’ perspective. there is culture there that is not completely obsessed with the image driven falsity of the rest of la.

Well, faithful readers, that fateful day has arrived. Suityourself and Roughty McRoughton will board their respective airplanes sometime early tomorrow morning, and embark on a spirited journey of flight. Destination: Los Angeles, California.

Luckily for them, the airport is a breezy 15-20 minute drive to my house, so they will get to avoid that notorious LA indigenous denizen and citizen: Massive Traffic.

Instead, they will be greeted by a cool, offshore breeze, a ride over the hill into Southern Marina Del Ray, and then a backdoor entrance into one of the major epicenters of “cool” in this grand country of the U.S. of A.

I present, Venice Beach, California.

If it seems that I play up Venice a bit too much, there’s a goddamn good reason for that. It’s the fucking shit. It’s the bomb diggidy 100% most badass place in the world. This weekend, me and my Old Lady were straight cruising the beach, mad relaxing. It was fucking sweet. If you come to Venice and don’t like it, or have negative things to say, then I say to you, “Go somewhere else, because this 5-square mile of heaven is mine if you don’t want it.”

Favorable destinations for those who aren’t down with Venice include: Dallas, Phoenix, Newport News, Newark and the home of the gayest baseball team in the history of the world, Boston.

The two savages arrive on Tuesday, and the schedule is clean until Friday, July 20. Sonic Youth is playing at the Greek Theatre in Griffith Park. It will be….sick. The Drawing Room is walking distance to the show. Ding Ding.

Birthday Celebration = Drawing Room + Dodgers/Mets

Then on Saturday, back to the DR for pre-gaming ahead of Roughty’s sob-fest. Roughty, fuck the Mets and Mr. Met. You are toast. Turbo recently ate my Dodgers hat, the big vagina-ed slut. Maybe one of you bitches can cough up 30$ for my new shiny blue one. We’ll see.

Of all the things I think that Suit will like the most, I have to go with the weed. If Suit is still himself, the first thing he will want is a fresh bag of the sticky. I will accommodate him and his wishes, and readily supply the goodness. Maybe he’ll want two beezies. Only time will tell.

From there, I imagine on Tuesday afternoon we will crawl the beaches, in search of cheap booze and adventure. It shouldn’t be too hard to do. Maybe Suit will strap on the rollerblades to get things moving a bit. I have a surfboard, too… You down, pussyknocker? Didn’t think so.

Suit has never been West of the Mississippi. I’ve got some serious news for you, biotch. Namely, “I don’t think we’re in Virginia Beach anymore, Ma.” No shiet.

I really don’t have anything else to say. Bring your sleeping bag. Bring your video games. Roughty, bring some tissues, or maybe a towel to wipe the tears away at the Dodgers game.

Salute, Americans. Not often do I get misty-eyed about the greatness of this country, but sometimes I do. I’m proud to be an American, born and raised in this country of freedom. As silly as that sounds, it’s pretty fucking true. I get to sit here, read all sorts of shit that’s going on in the world on the internet, get paid decent money to do a job that’s relatively easy for me, eat food, drive my car, write on this blog about stupid shit, and just do whatever the fuck I want. I can do whatever the fuck I want, and a lot of that stems from where I live and the society around me. I love it.

Anyway, I’m skateboarding down the pier at Venice Beach, cruising and enjoying the holiday crowds, when Arnold the Terminator and his weird wife Maria Shriver come biking by me. Fucking Arnold. So there he goes, with 1 of his kids, followed by about 4 secret service people. It was sweet.

I turned around and just kicked it with the secret service guys, and skated for a mile or two, chilling with the Governor.

The shit was pretty fun. I didn’t talk to him or yell at him, because I respect privacy, and it was obvious that he was just out to enjoy the holiday with his vacation. I just trailed along, having a good time, and watching people’s reactions….some pointed and shouted, some told the person they were with, but I’d say more than half the people didn’t even notice him. He was straight chillin, Venice Beach style. To any and all who are curious, Venice Beach is the fucking coolest place in the goddamn country. NYC is the bomb shit too, BUT the beach lifestyle is far and away more relaxing and fulfilling than the cramped city. Yes, Venice is part of a huge, sprawling shitstem of a city, but once you hit Venice, you are literally in a different world. It’s sick, and I love living in a place that I am excited about. The last few places I have lived have given me negative vibes, and contributed negatively to my life and lifestyle. Not so with Venice. I am exercising, getting sun and generally just big pimpin it, living large and lovin life.

Why don’t you live in Venice? I don’t understand why everybody doesn’t live here. It’s the shit.

In other news, I’d like to announce that I am now legally allowed to carry up to 8 ounces of marijuana on my person, in my house or in my car. The dude who gave me the run down emphasized one point, though, “Don’t medicate while driving.” Thank you, sir, I will follow your advice, and medicate only while not-driving.

How am I ever going to leave a state that allows me to smoke weed at my leisure and pleasure? No more gay weed dealers, no more short bags, no more nothing. I can go to the fucking weed store and buy my half-pound, and be content with my life. It’s fucking ridiculous. It’s a sea change. It’s a paradigm shift. It’s sliced bread.

…is a frightening prospect. pretty worried over here. what if the moviestars like the oompa loompa are too sophisticated for me? shit, what am i saying? more sophisticated than ME?! ME?!! i know. you’re all saying to yourselves, “suit, why are you worried? you are the classiest mutherfucker since don johnson.” well, i know. i know. i mean, it is my divine providence after all. i’m like lewis and clark. except more like clark, cuz i’m not going to shoot myself after i get back home.

all the same, i’m a little worried. they might be on a different level of consciousness, and maybe i won’t even be able to communicate with them. worse yet, i might wreck the rental car or get my wallet jacked at lax. shit, they might blow up my damn plane — atlanta to lax. sounds like a lot of fuel in that boeing.

no good stressing out, though. that’s why, with this post, i’ll chronicle some of the main reasons why i’m looking forward to l.a.

1. crossing the mighty mississippi — never done it yet and am looking forward to it, big time. a big milestone for a waterman like me.

2. going to another mlb ballpark — dodgers stadium should be fun. as long as they sell beer and caps, i’ll be all good. a mets’ loss (or, better yet, a terrible injury to beltran) would just be icing on the cake.

3. seeing my ole pal roughtonious — live 2 hours down the road from him and have to go to l.a. just to touch bases with a guy i used to see 5 times every day. p.s. roughty, i apologize for stealing all those subway station sandwiches from you. i always blamed in on stoney, but it was really me sometimes. also, while i’m apologizing, sorry for laughing at you for the sj punch to the grill. you did have it coming, though… pffft.

4. feeling comfortable in another city — when you’re a homeboy like me, you really get confident when you go someplace else and can function like a reasonable human. not sure if this will happen, but i’m thinking positive.

5. not leaving my wallet in the bar — stoney will remind me this time after the “off the wagon” incident in greenwich vill. if not, he’ll have a new permanent roommate.

6. going to the actual locations where some of my favorite movies were shot — training day, friday, don’t be a menace to south central while drinking your juice in the hood.

7. going to all my favorite places from 90210 — the beach where brenda met dylan, west beverly high, the radio station where david silver learned about speeeeed.

8. meeting lady t. — after all the hype, i’m ready to meet the genuine article. if she can make our boy take nudie pics off the blog, she must be a wonderful person. —editorial sidebar — yes, i’m kissing ass, boys. this is what you do before you go and share a teeny living space with somebody you never met before.—

9. the pacific ocean — another one of those things i never saw before. should be suhweet, gnarly, bodacious and that hang ten sign you do by sticking out your thumb and pinky finger and jiggling your hand around. maybe i’ll finally get to see the monster swells like on point break. i’m paddling out, bra!

10. smoking west coast rocks — i heard they’ll make you grit your teeth until they fall out. i already packed up my tire pressure guages and steel wool. yall know how we do.

most of all, though, there’s number 11. scratching the shit out of my pal stoney’s cd collection — i’m sitting here listening to let it be, and wouldn’t you know it, the shit is scratched right to hell — right in the middle of the long and winding road, no less. why don’t i take it out and put in something else like the love below? oh. that is scratched to shit as well. oh. what about all your sublime cds? you guessed it. looks like someone ran them over. bob dylan discs? fuuuucked up. broke a cd player with one of them just last week – seriously. why are all my cds scratched? i’ll tell you. it’s this blog’s fearless leader — mr stoney. it’s almost as though he destructulated my shit on purpose. oh well, iain’tmadatcha. all i’m saying is you better hide your shit, holmes. for real. i’m bringing some rusty nails and broken glass for the whole collection.

all jokes aside, i can’t wait to see my friends again. the only thing that would make it better is if dankkkkk could come. what am i saying? i know he could come if he really wanted to. (peer-pressure’s a bitch, muthafuckah.)

the return to the blessed muse,
the vile whore who has so diseased my mind
and tortured my toenails,
the return of the said witch
has inflamed my soul
twisted my hairs and senses on end
i present to you, a beginning
from an old dear hero

A Satyre Against Mankindjohn wilmot, earl of rochester

Were I (who to my cost already am
One of those strange, prodigious creatures, man)
A spirit free to choose, for my own share,
What case of flesh and blood I pleased to wear,
I’d be a dog, a monkey, or a bear,
Or anything but that vain animal,
Who is so proud of being rational.

The senses are too gross, and he’ll contrive
A sixth, to contradict the other five,
And before certain instinct, will prefer
Reason, which fifty times for one does err.